


Downtown (everything's waiting for you)

by so_shhy



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, Charles can be a jerk too sometimes, M/M, Prostitution, Romance, unreasonably short courtships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-07
Updated: 2012-03-07
Packaged: 2017-11-01 15:12:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/358259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/so_shhy/pseuds/so_shhy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles is a rich CEO, Erik is a hooker with a heart of gold...</p>
<p>(In other words, Pretty Woman AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Downtown (everything's waiting for you)

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [[授权翻译]Downtown (everything's waiting for you)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3664386) by [Shame_i_translate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shame_i_translate/pseuds/Shame_i_translate)



> For the kink meme prompt: Charles as Vivian and Erik as Edward (or vice versa).
> 
> Teensy edits from the version on LJ, because it needed to be fluffier. Which is like saying water needs to be wetter, but humour me, ok?
> 
> Warnings for Pretty Woman-style violence and the use of 'whore' (and similar words) as a slur.

Tight jeans and eyeliner, bright lights and dirty streets. Downtown LA, with its rumbling traffic and crowded sidewalks. It’s a place you go to forget your cares. A place where everybody’s got a dream.

His dream was decent money, a client that didn’t leave marks and a roommate that he didn’t want to punch in the face. None of it was likely to come true any time soon.

Still, it was better than no dream at all.

 

***

 

Charles pulled the confusing car over to the kerb and sighed. He was perhaps a little drunk. Not seriously drunk, not running round the pub, stripping off his clothes and dancing on the pool table drunk, but drunk enough that he probably shouldn’t be driving. If he died in a fiery wreck Kurt and Cain would only have themselves to congratulate.

He was definitely too drunk to remember the way to his hotel, not that he particularly wanted to go there. He wasn’t quite sure what this place was, but maybe he could get another drink, meet some nice people and end up dead in an alley somewhere.

Maybe not.

Besides, the people around here didn’t look nice. To be honest, he kind of suspected that they were prostitutes.

A tap on the window made him start in surprise. He looked up and felt his mouth drop open. This particular specimen, standing by the car with his hips tilted provocatively, was a renaissance sculpture in ripped jeans.

‘Hey,’ the man purred, ‘you looking for a date?’

‘No,’ said Charles firmly, trying to keep his thoughts on his predicament. ‘I’m looking for my hotel. It’s called the Regent. Can you help me?’ He hadn’t met a whole lot of prostitutes before, but perhaps they knew about these things.

Apparently they did. They also charged unreasonable prices for directions.

After being kicked out of the driver’s seat for incompetence Charles found himself being chauffeur-driven along Hollywood Boulevard at about 90 miles per hour. The fiery wreck situation was becoming more and more probable.

‘So what’s your name?’ he said. Anything seemed better than looking at the road.

The man’s muscular shoulders flexed in a graceful shrug that stretched his tight t-shirt. ‘Max. Hans. Erik. Jakob. You choose.’

Fair enough, thought Charles, a little embarrassed. It was really none of his business. Still, it didn’t do to show uncertainty. ‘It might as well be Erik, then,’ he said. ‘That’s a nice name. I’m Charles.’

The man currently known as Erik glanced sideways. ‘It suits you.’

For some reason Charles found the observation vaguely insulting, though he was too busy grabbing for the closest bit of car to do much about it. He hung on tight for the rest of the ride, making social chit-chat. It was a novel experience.

Erik was originally from Germany, didn’t follow current affairs, hadn’t read any good books lately and really couldn’t give a fuck what the weather was like. He also had light blue eyes and a sarcastic drawl that would have had any starched society matron dragging him bodily into the cloakroom.

When they pulled up outside the hotel, Charles suppressed the gasp of relief at not having died and fished for his wallet. The crisp twenty dollar bill looked rather pathetic. ‘Here. Thank you very much, my friend.’

Erik made no move to take the money. ‘Stop kidding yourself, Charles.’ He flashed a brief, mocking smile. ‘I’m not going anywhere except into that hotel with you.’

Charles blinked. He swallowed. He opened his mouth to say no, he was a Xavier, and Xaviers just didn’t do this kind of thing.

No sound came out.

Thirty seconds later he was walking into LA’s poshest hotel accompanied by a partially clothed sex-god with tattooed forearms and eye makeup, who prowled in as though he owned the place and glared at the other guests until they looked away.

Well, sometimes in life you just had to keep a stiff upper lip and make the best of things. It would be fine.

***

Though Erik would never to admit this, even to Azazel, he was far from comfortable with the situation. He’d charmed his way into the hotel room, but now things weren’t going according to plan. He took another cautious look at the silver tray. British politeness was all very well, but this was taking it a step too far. ‘Strawberries and champagne?’

It had to be an act, he decided. There was no way somebody could naturally have such a sweet smile and yet turn out to be so oddly unsettling.

His well-heeled client reached into the bowl and passed over a fruit. ‘Well, why not?’ he said, with yet another friendly smile. ‘I like them, don’t you? Eat it, it’s full of vitamins.’

Erik raised it to his lips, going for sultry and wondering if he was a little out of his depth. ‘Right,’ he said, when he had swallowed it, and the man had made no move to come closer, ‘what would you like to do first?’

‘Well, there are some great films on demand.’

Really not according to plan.

So they watched TV. Not even porn, just TV. Erik got more disconcerted with every passing minute.

‘Why am I here?’ he demanded eventually. He was stuck in a room with a small, uptight, upper class pretty-boy, and it was turning out to be surprisingly frustrating.

‘You know, I really couldn’t tell you.’ Charles looked away from the TV screen and shrugged ruefully. ‘I’m surprised myself.’

‘Well, can we please get on with it?’

It was unbelievable. The man actually pouted. ‘Not quite yet, OK? We’ll get to it soon, I promise.’

‘I’m on the clock.’ Not that he minded the venue and the company, but more clients meant more rent money.

‘Is that the problem?’ Charles tilted his tousled head. ‘Oh, I see, I’m so sorry. Listen, I don’t want to put you out, so why don’t I just pay you for the entire night? How much do you charge?’

Erik glared. Uncertainty didn’t come naturally to him, and he didn’t like it. There was no need to say yes, of course, it was up to him to decide who, and when, and how much, but he really needed the cash. ‘You couldn’t afford it,’ he said, knowing perfectly well that it wasn’t true. ‘Five hundred.’

‘Cheap at the price,’ said Charles cheerfully. ‘Now hush, we’re just getting to the good part.’

Erik shrugged and decided to be philosophical about it all. Money was money, even if you earned it by watching old movies and eating strawberries.

***

Charles couldn’t quite believe that his inherent politeness had led him to being blown by a prostitute. It wasn’t sensible. But the poor man had kept giving him uncomfortable little glances, and he felt he was making some kind of social faux pas, implying that Erik wasn’t good enough. He had finally cracked.

Still, it wasn’t nearly as sleazy as he’d feared. After getting through a Hitchcock thriller, a whole heap of strawberries, two chess games and a bottle and a half of champagne he’d decided that Erik was much nicer than most of the people in his social circle. Besides, he obviously knew what he was doing, which was more than could be said for the last few incredibly dull men with whom he’d exchanged stilted dinner conversation and unsatisfying blowjobs.

This blowjob certainly fell into the satisfying category. In fact, it lifted the lid off the satisfying category and exploded up into the stratosphere. It was fierce and drawn out and so… bloody… good… _Jesus… Christ_ …

Erik raised his head and licked his wet, reddened lips. It was an image that should have been painted in glowing, subtle colours by an old master.

He really was astonishingly lovely.

It seemed like some sort of response was in order, though the devastating orgasm had made it a little difficult to think straight. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘That was very nice. Thank you very much. Would you like me to, um, return the favour?’

Erik raised a particularly gorgeous eyebrow, the left one, which was perhaps fractionally more beautiful than the right. ‘It’s not really the protocol, but it’s your money. We can do what you like.’

Charles felt rather shy. He was probably blushing, but maybe Erik would take it for arousal rather than embarrassment. ‘Really? Well if you wouldn’t mind… I don’t suppose you’d care to fuck me?’

Erik laughed. It changed his face completely, making him look almost innocent. ‘Over here, then,’ he said, indicating the door to the bedroom. ‘I should tell you, though, that I don’t kiss on the mouth. Or any other orifice. It’s too personal.’

‘Of course, of course. Not a problem.’

It was a tiny bit of a problem. When Erik was inside him, expertly thrusting into that perfect, bone-melting spot, it seemed so unnatural not to press their gasping mouths together. Still, it didn’t dull the bliss of being filled and touched, and coming so hard that he scarcely knew his own name.

He’d take what he could get.

Afterwards, he slipped away from the warm, sleeping body, deciding to give himself another illicit little treat. He went over to his briefcase, pulled out the latest issue of _Cell Biology_ and settled down happily to read.

***

Erik had always enjoyed sleeping. He particularly enjoyed it when the bed didn’t jab rusting springs into his softer regions at every opportunity, but he never, ever slept at a client’s place. And yet this time he slept late and soundly and woke up feeling almost relaxed.

He looked round warily, then yearningly. There was no sign of Charles, but god, this place was gorgeous, with soft upholstery, elegant artwork and a bathroom the size of a respectable apartment. Caution warred with temptation, and temptation won. The shower was frankly amazing. He spent far too long in it, then wrapped himself up in the fluffy white robe with the hotel logo on the pocket.

When he looked in the mirror he could almost believe it. Just a nice boy in a nice hotel, staying with an old friend.

Yeah, right.

Still, he couldn’t quite shake the feeling of contentment as he wandered out into the main room and looked around for his host.

‘Oh, hello, good morning.’

The voice came from floor level. He looked down. Charles was seated cross-legged, practically under the table, wearing a tattered silk dressing gown, and completely surrounded by journals, photocopies, post-it notes and crumbs of croissant. He smiled vaguely without looking up. ‘I didn’t know what you’d like for breakfast, so I ordered everything, but it smelled good so I ate quite a lot of it.’

‘Fine,’ said Erik, looking at the platters of scrambled eggs, smoked salmon, bacon, pancakes and pastries.

He should just take his money and leave, but he was really, really hungry.

***

Out of the sixteen papers Charles had been through, four should never have got through peer review and another three had thrown up mildly interesting but useless facts. The remaining nine, however, told quite a coherent story if you looked at the combined results in a certain way, which apparently nobody had. He felt himself smile. ‘You know, Erik, I might just be able to pull some of this data into a worthwhile conclusion.’

‘Really? How interesting.’

That drawl again. Oh, god, he was planning a review article with a hustler in his hotel room.

No, with _Erik_ in his hotel room. Erik was nice. Erik was…

Erik was clean and soft and fluffy.

Charles blinked. ‘Goodness, you look different without all the...’ He made an uncertain and possibly slightly flaily hand gesture, trying to indicate clothes, hair gel, makeup, overt sensuality and his own lack of sobriety. Put the man in a tux and he could have launched a charity benefit. ‘Um, sorry. Did you sleep well?’

Erik shifted languidly. ‘Too well. Did you sleep?’

‘No,’ Charles admitted sheepishly. ‘I was in the mood for some cellular genetics, and I don’t often get the chance, so….’

There was that raised eyebrow again. It was irresistible. Obedient to its siren call, Charles found himself giving a ten minute description of his father’s biotechnology company with its money-grubbing board of directors who had him under their collective thumbs, and Cain and Kurt, and why he had to run the damn thing to keep them from getting their hands on it. He wasn’t sure why the hell he was talking about any of it.

Considering that Erik was clearly half-starved and spent his life selling himself on the street, he looked unreasonably sympathetic. ‘Don’t let people push you around,’ he advised. ‘If you don’t like it, just leave.’ Then he got up and stretched. ‘I should be leaving too. Do you want one for the road? No extra charge.’

‘Yes please,’ said Charles, with considerably alacrity and absolutely no input from his brain.

With Erik’s mouth back on his cock, he realised he was in trouble. One more of these wouldn’t be enough. He wouldn’t let it be enough.

There was absolutely no way to justify what he was about to do, except that he wanted to. It was going to be a miserable week, and he hated this city, and he deserved something nice to make up for it. If he had to sit through dinners with investors and painful social occasions, at least he didn’t have to do it alone.

***

‘A week,’ said Erik. ‘You want me to spend a week with you.’ He was definitely out of his depth, and the man was completely mad. ‘Why?’ he demanded.

‘Well, for one thing…’ Charles gestured down at himself, ‘…you’re incredibly good at that. Spectacularly good. And for another, you’ll be very useful to me.’ He looked calm and businesslike, but Erik noticed his fingers twisting nervously. ‘I have to charm a smaller company into a takeover, and it would be easier to keep it relaxed with a date on my arm. Besides, it would stop people trying to set me up with their daughters.’

‘So I scare off potential brides in the daytime, look pretty for your business dinners in the evening and fuck you at night. Is that it?’

Charles nodded earnestly. ‘Exactly.’

Offers that seemed too good to be true usually were. Erik’s heart started thumping. There was absolutely no reason to suspect Charles, he wasn’t threatening, he wasn’t strong, he was utterly clean-cut and really almost adorable, but that didn’t stop him from being a dangerous freak with a cabinet full of rape drugs and knives.

‘You could get a million guys for free,’ he said cautiously.

‘Yes, I suppose so. But I want you.’ Nothing had changed in Charles’s voice or his manner, yet he seemed suddenly forlorn. Erik had an inexplicable urge to hug him.

‘Seven thousand dollars,’ he said.

Charles beamed. ‘Done.’

***

‘One more thing.’ Charles poked his head back into the bedroom. He was late for his meeting, but Erik was dressing. It was nice to watch. ‘What’s your real name?’

‘You don’t like Erik?’ Erik asked, tugging his t-shirt into place over his stomach. ‘Ok. How about Michael?’

‘I do like Erik. Michael is very nice too, but is it really your name?’

Erik grinned. ‘No.’

***

‘Can I help you, sir?’

The tone was precisely the same as it had been in the last three stores: cold, sardonic, derisory, and finely crafted to make Erik feel like the cheap whore that he was. He imagined himself garrotting the man with one of the hideously expensive silk ties on the display, then decided that it really wasn’t worth it.

‘No,’ he growled, ‘you can’t.’

Why could he never think of a snappy comeback when he needed one?

He headed back to the hotel, fuming, with a pocket full of cash and no suit, wondering if the day could get any worse. Then he realised that he’d forgotten the room key. And about two seconds after that, someone tapped him meaningfully on the shoulder.

He swore under his breath and turned, finding himself face to face with an icy blonde, all in white, who was regarding him with about as much cordiality as the salesman. She smiled falsely. ‘Excuse me sir, are you a guest at this hotel?’

It was one ‘sir’ too many. His patience snapped completely. ‘Of course not. Is there something wrong with your eyes? Everybody else can tell exactly what I am.’

She fixed him with an arctic gaze. ‘Very funny. Now are you going to leave or do I have to call security?’

Erik gritted his teeth. ‘It really isn’t funny.’ He had several hundred dollars in his pocket, and once again it would be far more sensible to take it and get out of here.

But Charles trusted him.

He took a deep breath. It was worth one last try. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘there’s this crazy guy in the penthouse who hired me for the week. He’s called Charles, and I have no idea what his last name is or how to get hold of him. I’ll leave, but when he turns up you can tell him that I gave it my best shot.’

He turned to stalk out, and then stopped as the woman seized his arm. ‘What now? I’m going aren’t I?’

She raised her eyebrow at him. ‘Not so fast. Did you say Charles? About this big, blue eyes, doesn’t know how to dress?’

‘Yes.’

To his utter bafflement, she burst into a peal of delighted laughter. ‘Oh, sugar, this is priceless. Come and tell me all about it.’

It turned out that her name was Emma, and she’d known Charles for years, and she thought it was hysterical. She also had a tailor on call, a full understanding of dinner table etiquette and the cruellest sense of humour he’d ever come across.

They looked at each other with mutual approval. Possibly it would be the start of a beautiful friendship.

***

‘And this is my date…’ Shit, thought Charles. Shit, they hadn’t decided on a last name.

He was already rather befuddled. When he’d got back to the hotel lobby Erik wasn’t anywhere to be seen, so he’d looked around for Emma. She was talking to a tall, sleek young man in very nice suit, and he’d dithered about going over and interrupting with a genteel version of ‘Has anyone seen my prostitute?’

Then the man had turned round.

Erik in all-out slut mode was hot as hell. Erik in dove grey silk was absolutely breathtaking.

They’d walked out together with Emma smirking in the background, and Charles couldn’t suppress a thrill of ridiculous pride at having this beautiful creature at his side even if it was only on a strictly financial basis. Nobody else had to know. But now, face to face with the terrifying CEO of Phoenix Pharmaceuticals and her brisk, competent niece, he felt like the truth was written all over his face in shameful letters. If he could just think of a name, any name…

Erik stepped forward with a lazy smile, holding out his hand. ‘Erik Lehnsherr. It’s a pleasure to meet you.’

Dr Grey looked sharply at him. ‘Indeed. Well, Xavier, you’ve taken one weapon out of my arsenal – I won’t bother ordering my niece to seduce you. I hope you’re not too disappointed, Moira.’

‘I’ll survive.’ She held out her hand to Erik with a blinding smile. ‘Dr Moira MacTaggert. Delighted.’

She seemed slightly too delighted for Charles’s peace of mind.

The introductions over, Charles gave Dr Grey his arm and escorted her to the table. He shot Erik a grateful look. You saved my arse back there, he thought. I could kiss you. Except that you wouldn’t kiss me back.

***

‘So business was good,’ said Erik. ‘You want their company, they don’t want to let it go.’

The rest of the dinner had been a total nightmare, spent trying to mind his manners and suppress his ingrained do-filthy-things-to-me body language, while keeping his smile firmly in place. The smile had probably got a little fixed and toothy at some points, particularly under the eagle eye of Dr Grey. He had a disturbing suspicion that the old battle-axe could see right through him.

‘Yes,’ said Charles moodily. His face was in shadow as he gazed out at the glittering city lights but his shoulders were clearly drooping. ‘Well, actually no. Not remotely. Oh dear, my life is a disaster.’

That morning Erik had surprised himself by not snapping something sarcastic about the poor little rich boy diatribe. Now he surprised himself still more by laying a comforting hand on Charles’s back. Sympathy was not part of his usual service. ‘How come?’

Charles scratched at the paint on the balcony railings. ‘I don’t want it. They shouldn’t sell it, it’s a terrible idea. They’re working on this astounding gene therapy but the investors don’t know what it means. They just see us sniffing around looking to buy, and they do that cartoon thing with huge dollar signs in their eyes.’ He waved a hand. ‘You know. Ka-ching.’

‘Ka-ching?’

‘Yes. And our directors _do_ know, and once we’ve got the patent they’ll make us take the research in the most profitable direction. If Dr Grey kept control it could save hundreds of thousands more lives.’

Suddenly Charles’s problems didn’t seem quite so insignificant. Erik listened as he mumbled on miserably about shares and legalities, and enthusiastically about phase two trials, RNA expression, enzyme inhibitors and other long and meaningless words. In summary, it was very groovy research and it would all be wasted.

‘Anything I can do to help?’

‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ said Charles, turning abruptly. ‘I’ve been boring on. You did brilliantly already, thank you so much.’ He smiled hopefully. ‘You know, if you’re offering… I could really use a hug.’

Erik had been asked for many strange things in his time, but rarely for this. A hug. He could do that.

Maybe he even wanted to.

***

Erik was not a Barbie doll, Charles reminded himself. It was not OK to dress him up in lots of different outfits just for his own amusement. At least it wasn’t just him; the staff at the store seemed to be having just as much fun, cooing over each new combination, scuttling around to find the right tie or belt or shoes and generally enjoying the quite exceptional view.

Erik looked good in _everything._

‘That one,’ said Charles. ‘No, the blue one. Or both, let’s have both. What do you think?’

The assistants were clearly of the view that both was the way to go. Erik seemed less convinced. He scowled. ‘Is this really necessary?’

‘Yes,’ said Charles, ignoring the fact that Erik couldn’t possibly wear all those clothes in their remaining six days together. ‘You never know what you’ll need, the world can be very unexpected.’

Then his phone rang. ‘Oh bother.’

It was Kurt. Kurt was not impressed with his absence from the negotiating table. Charles instantly felt about a foot shorter and a little breathless. ‘Look, all right, I’m coming,’ he said, and hung up quickly. ‘Erik, I have to go. Will you be OK here on your own?’

‘It’ll certainly be cheaper than if you stayed,’ said Erik sardonically.

The assistants gave little synchronised sighs of disappointment as Charles handed over his credit cards, barely stopped himself from giving Erik a peck on the lips, and scuttled out of the door.

He really hated seeing Kurt. Nevertheless, he was determined to have his say. As he climbed out of the cab and went into the building he took a deep breath and composed his argument. It was clear and sensible and convincing.

Of course, Kurt didn’t listen to a word.

Cain sniggered. ‘So you’re saying Phoenix isn’t a “good fit” for us? Go ahead and take that to the directors. You’ll be doing me a favour, they’ll have you out on your ear.’

‘It’s a defensible position,’ Charles protested. Sadly Kurt and Cain had somehow missed the memo that he was infinitely more intelligent than they were. He sighed manfully and started to go through his reasoning again.

Kurt cut him off with a gesture. ‘If you’re asking for my support, you’re even more naïve than you look. Land the deal and let me sort out the details, or lose it and explain yourself to the Board. You decide.’

Which meant, quite simply, tear up Phoenix for its patents or hand his company over to the Marcos.

Charles pressed his lips together determinedly. Erik was right, he let everyone push him around. He took another deep breath. ‘You can go back in with the lawyers now, Kurt,’ he said. ‘Feel free to thrash out something preliminary, but I’ll be talking to Dr Grey again, and I will go to the Board if necessary. Now I have some paperwork to attend to. Goodbye.’

He strolled out feeling smug. While it wasn’t exactly an earth-shattering speech, from the expressions on their faces he’d at least made an impression.

***

Azazel peered at Erik. ‘Clean up nice,’ he admitted. ‘Good suit. Good shoes. Your sugar daddy, he sticking around?’

Erik scowled. ‘He’s not a sugar daddy, and he’s only here for the week.’

‘Shame.’

‘It’s fine,’ Erik said, ‘It’s a temporary thing, I wouldn’t stay with him even if he asked.’ Not even for the shower and the fluffy bathrobes, he told himself.

‘Ah. Ugly,’ said Azazel knowingly.

‘No, he’s cute.’ The words popped out without Erik thinking about it. He swore under his breath as Azazel fixed him with an interested gaze. It was true, though, Charles was objectively cute, with his blue eyes, red lips and friendly, open smile. Still, he was a trick like any other. ‘Look, will you just pay the rent? Don’t spend it all on drugs.’

‘Who, me?’

‘Yes, you. Where did the last lot go?’

‘Small issue with cash flow,’ Azazel said, offended.

‘Fuck off.’ Erik gave him a shove towards the door, then groaned as he saw Emma on an intercept course. ‘Oh, perfect.’

Her heels clicked across the floor as she approached, like tiny knells of doom. She looked Azazel up and down, taking in the half-bared chest and black leather trousers. ‘Erik, darling, are you starting a fashion, or has Charles decided to add to his harem?’

‘This is my roommate, Azazel,’ said Erik, ‘who was _just leaving.’_

‘I don’t get to meet sugar daddy?’ Azazel turned to Emma with a leer. ‘Very interested. Erik thinks his new trick is cute.’

‘Does he now?’ said Emma, clearly very interested too.

‘Oh Christ, I’m going back upstairs.’ He stomped back to the room, leaving the two of them standing there. They could discuss him all they liked, Charles was a nice guy but hardly sugar daddy material. Besides, he’d be gone soon. Erik would go back to his street corner a bit richer than before, and neither of them would think of the other again.

Charles came in at seven, rumpled and tired and still irritatingly cute. He bounced onto the bed where Erik had been moodily watching TV. ‘Hello. God, what a day. I think I held my own, though, you’re a good influence on me. Let’s get some dinner, then we’ll come back and collapse to the rest of… what’s this you’re watching? More Hitchcock? Oh, Spellbound, you big softie, that’s terribly romantic.’

‘Whatever you want,’ said Erik, more bitterly than he’d intended. ‘You’re the boss.’

Then he felt terribly guilty at the way Charles’s face fell, and spent the rest of the evening cheering him up again.

***

‘Honestly’ Charles gasped, as Erik’s hand wrapped around his cock, ‘what’s your name?’ It was really starting to bother him.

‘Still not a fan of Erik? You can use Ian, if you like.’

‘Ian? That’s not even German. Oh, yes, do that again. Keep doing that. Ohhhhh, bloody fucking hell, oh my _god_ …’ He broke off for a minute to squirm and pant and make little mewling noises. ‘You’re not actually called Ian, are you?’

Erik licked his earlobe. ‘No.’

***

‘Polo?’ said Erik. ‘You mean the ridiculous game with horses? What’s that got to do with business?’

Charles sighed. He didn’t really understand it either. For some reason polo fields were considered perfectly normal business venues, along with saunas and strip clubs. He’d really rather stay in the boardroom, where he could have tea and sandwiches and custard creams. ‘Dr MacTaggert is playing,’ he said, ‘you know, Moira, and we’ll mingle with tiresome people. We really have to go.’

Erik shrugged. ‘If you say so.’

So they went. Erik wore a light jacket and slacks and looked as though he’d just stepped out of a glossy magazine. Charles, with a tremendous effort, managed to get outside without peeling them off him again.

It was pleasant at the match. Erik seemed to expand in the warmth and the cleaner air. When they ran out onto the field to stamp the divots of turf back into place he picked Charles up and swung him round, nearly depositing him in a pile of horse shit, and laughed like a child.

Charles took a risk and kissed him on the cheek. Then he went to get them some drinks, and it all went wrong.

He was standing at the bar when Cain’s heavy hand clapped down on his shoulder. ‘Hello Charlie,’ he said, ‘I see you brought a friend. I didn’t think you had it in you.’ He smirked. ‘Though by the look of him, I guess you do have it in you. Every night, maybe. I bet you beg for it, don’t you, little brother?’

Charles’s fists clenched. He forced himself to relax. Getting angry and lashing out was not a good plan, as empirical evidence from his boyhood had repeatedly confirmed. Besides, the polo people wouldn’t approve of the disturbance and they had very big sticks. ‘I’ll thank you to mind your own business,’ he said. At least it had the semblance of dignity.

Cain smirked even wider. ‘You’d better mind yours,’ he said nastily. ‘Don’t look now, but I think your boyfriend swings both ways.’

Charles did look, against his better judgement. Erik was talking to Moira MacTaggert, smiling warmly. She was smiling too, and she reached out to touch his arm, and then they both laughed and something cold and furious twisted in Charles’s stomach.

No, he told himself, it’s nothing. They’re just talking.

The evil seductress took Erik’s hand and guided it to pat her horse.

Charles tried to be sensible. The two of them had met once, they got on well enough, they were friends. That would be fine, except for the uncomfortable knowledge that he and Erik weren’t friends, they were business acquaintances. However convincing it might seem, Erik wasn’t interested in him. Perhaps he wasn’t interested in men at all.

And on top of that, Cain - nasty, mocking Cain who stuck tiny knives into every chink in Charles's armour - was seeing it all. He was seeing Erik flirting with someone else in front of Charles's nose, and he was despising Charles for it, and it was unbearable.

‘Why would I care?’ Charles snapped. ‘He’s not my boyfriend, I picked him up on the streets. He’s a prostitute.’

‘He’s a…?’ Cain’s expression flipped from jeering to gleeful. He gave a barking laugh. ‘Prissy little Charles! Jumped off your moral high horse for once, have you?’ He gave Charles another slap on the shoulder. ‘There might be hope for you yet.’

He strode off, still sniggering. Charles stood there, frozen. He wanted to grab the words back, seal them in a lead box and toss them into the ocean, attached to several tons of anchor chain. It was such a stupid thing to say, in public, to an utterly despicable human being. He shuddered to think how Erik would feel if he knew.

Ten minutes later, Erik definitely knew.

Although Charles was too far away to hear, he saw it all. He saw them meet, and Cain’s obscene hand gesture, and how Erik jerked as though he’d been burned. He saw Erik raise his fist and Cain step hastily backwards, sending lawn chairs toppling. Then, just as he was dashing to intervene, Erik turned away, snarling something over his shoulder, and strode towards the car park, fast and angry.

Charles ran after him. ‘Erik, wait! Stop, please.’ He stumbled up, panting. It wasn’t his fault, if Erik hadn’t, if Erik… But he knew there was no excuse. ‘I shouldn’t have told him, it wasn’t fair.’

‘Fuck you, Charles,’ Erik snapped. ‘Give me my money. I’m leaving.’

***

The worst thing was that it came as a surprise. He should’ve known better, he was a whore, that was what people saw and that was how people treated him. He was a mouth and a cock and an ass, nothing more, nothing worthy of respect or consideration, and he was used to it. He’d stopped giving a fuck a long time ago.

Charles was just like the others, just some sleazebag john, and he was an idiot to have let himself believe any different.

‘At least take the clothes,’ said Charles.

‘Keep them. What am I supposed to do with them where I’m going?’ He flung off the jacket and tugged at his shirt buttons with one hand, scrabbling in the closet with the other. His jeans were in there somewhere, and his t-shirt, he’d feel like himself again once he had them on. He could go down into the lobby and Emma would give him a disgusted look and kick him out onto the sidewalk, and he’d be back where he belonged, on the streets.

‘Look, I know you’re upset…’

‘I’m not upset!’ Erik yelled. He got himself under control and lowered his voice. ‘I can’t hang around if you’re going to pull shit like this. Do you know what would have happened if I’d hit that asshole? I’d be in jail. He knows what I am, he’d’ve called the cops.’ There, that was convincing. It wasn’t as shameful as _how could you do this to me?_

‘But you don’t have to leave,’ said Charles. In his odd little world it was apparently perfectly acceptable behaviour to announce that you’d brought a prostitute to a polo match. ‘I won’t do it again, I swear. It was only because I saw you and Moira, and you…’

‘I what?’ Erik snapped. He found his jeans and stripped off his slacks and underpants with no attempt at modesty. Charles might as well get one last look at what he’d paid for.

Charles looked defiant. ‘You were being so nice to her, and she touched you and you laughed. If you like her, fine, just tell me.’

‘You _wanted_ me to be nice to her!’ He could hear his voice rising up to yelling volume again. ‘What the fuck, Charles? She’s a fucking woman.’

‘Oh.’

Erik tugged his jeans up over his bare buttocks, turned to glare at the little wilting figure, and then continued to rummage. He was getting out now.

‘Well how was I to know?’ Charles asked petulantly. ‘I wasn’t even sure that you were really… you know.’

Finally, there was the t-shirt, crumpled up in the back of a drawer. It was cheap and nasty and it smelled. ‘Yes, I am, really, not that it’s any of your goddamn business.’

He heard a small noise from behind him. Charles had sat down on the bed and was picking awkwardly at the coverlet. ‘Look, I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘I just didn’t like seeing it. I got jealous.’

‘You got jealous over a whore?’

‘No,’ said Charles quietly, ‘I got jealous over you.’

***

To his ashamed bewilderment, Charles actually found it quite enjoyable getting fucked by someone who was furious with him. Erik had been so unlike his usual competent self, all hard eyes, fierce glares and strong, unyielding hands. He’d bitten and sucked until Charles was sore all over, whimpering with every touch, unable to bear any more, writhing and moaning at the scrape of teeth over his nipples and the fingers shoving roughly into him, prepping him for the pounding of his life.

All right, it had been more than quite enjoyable, it had been amazing, but sadly all the amazingness had resulted from him being a total arse. Erik would have been perfectly justified in walking out and never coming back.

That wouldn’t have been enjoyable at all.

Charles rolled out of bed, trying not to make too much noise. He was too het up to sleep. He padded to the bathroom and took a long look at himself, noting with some satisfaction the swollen lips and the red marks blossoming on his chest. Experimentally, he ran a finger over one still-sensitive nipple. Ow. Ohh… mmm.

No, he wasn’t going to get distracted by thoughts of sex. ‘You can fix this, Charles Xavier,’ he told his reflection. Tomorrow would be different. He’d take Erik somewhere nice, a real date, and apologise properly. Then maybe they actually would be friends, and things would be like before when they’d stumbled around on the polo field together and hugged each other and laughed.

The date might be a problem though. He didn’t have a clue what Erik liked, beyond knowing that he approved of Hitchcock movies and disapproved of polo. Also, there was some pointless performance that they were scheduled to go to with Dr Grey and bloody Moira MacTaggert.

It didn’t matter. He was going to make it a special evening. They could blow off this whatever-it-was, he didn’t really need to see Dr Grey again, Cain and Kurt could have it their own way this time.

He just needed to find some kind of excuse.

***

‘Did we buy you a tuxedo?’

Charles was standing in the doorway, looking vaguely discontented. Erik set his book aside, wincing slightly at the memory of that shopping trip. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘You bought me half the store, I’m surprised I haven’t got a dozen.’

‘Oh,’ said Charles sadly. ‘Oh well, I suppose it wouldn’t have worked anyway. We could have just hired one. Maybe I can say we both went down with food poisoning, but that’s such an obvious lie. She’d probably think we were just having lots of sex.’

‘What the hell are you talking about?’ Erik started to smile and suppressed it hurriedly, telling himself not to be so stupid. He’d wanted to stay angry but Charles was being conciliatory and cuddly in such a hopeful way. Every moment was a struggle not to pull him close and tell him he was forgiven.

Charles shuffled his feet. ‘I thought we could do something tonight, just the two of us, so I need an excuse for Dr Grey. We were supposed to go to this thing with her. _La Traviata_ , I think it’s called.’

‘ _La Traviata?_ ’ Erik repeated, feeling his mouth go dry.

‘Yes. It’s an opera, or something. We can skip it though. I mean, who wants to go to the opera?’

Erik swallowed. He could remember, very vividly, the last time he’d been to the opera. It was just after they arrived in America and his father had taken him to make him feel more at home, a reminder of their many family outings back in Berlin. They’d seen _The Marriage of Figaro,_ with its implausible plot and joyously happy ending, and his father had said, ‘You see, Erik? There is confusion on the way but very often it all turns out well.’

And now his parents were dead and he was just another LA rentboy.

Fingers brushed his hand. Charles was suddenly kneeling at his side, looking up at him with heart-stopping earnestness.

‘Erik, do you want to go?’

He shrugged. Of course he did. He wanted the curtain and the lights and the thrum of excitement, and most of all he wanted the music with all its passion and power. It made no difference though, it was up to Charles what they did and where they went.

‘I like opera,’ he managed.

‘Oh, well then, that’s different!’ said Charles, delighted. If he’d had a tail he would have been wagging it excitedly. ‘I’m so glad, I’ve been wracking my brains to think of something you’d like. And you can talk to Dr Grey and it won’t matter that I’m so frightfully ignorant. Perfect.’ He dropped his eyes and smiled shyly. ‘Then it’s a date. ’

Erik opened his mouth to say, ‘you do remember I’m a prostitute, right? We’re really not dating.’ Then he realised that he was going to see _La Traviata_ and all he could say was, ‘Thank you.’

***

‘Your young man is quite the opera buff,’ Dr Grey said, during the second interval. ‘Very well informed.’

‘Yes, I know, he loves it,’ said Charles. At least, he knew _now_. His eyes flicked towards the door to the box. Erik had stepped outside after the curtain came down, nominally to get a breath of air but more probably to hide the fact that he was tear-stained and sniffly.

‘I’m glad someone’s having fun.’ Dr Grey’s eyes narrowed. ‘Well, Xavier, let’s get on with it. How much are you offering for my company?’

Her voice was taut. He knew it had nothing to do with the money, if she lost Phoenix she’d lose her life’s work, her staff would lose their integrity and thousands of people would lose what little hope they had.

He started on the pitch. Then, about halfway through, he stopped. He couldn’t meet their eyes. ‘I really don’t want to be doing this, you know.’

‘Don’t you? Then don’t do it,’ Moira snapped.

‘I don’t know if there’s another way.’ There had to be. ‘I hope… I’m still working on it.’

‘Well keep working,’ Dr Grey told him sharply. She gave him one of her more piercing glances, which might have had a shade of approval in it. ‘At least you know what you’re talking about, which is more than most. I’ve read some of your articles. What are you doing wasting your time as a CEO?’

Charles looked down at his feet. He was beginning to wonder about that himself.

Erik slipped back into the box at the three minute bell. ‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘I just needed to…’ He shrugged and insinuated his gorgeously tuxedoed form back into his seat with a watery, dazzling smile.

‘It’s good, isn’t it?’ said Charles inanely. He had no idea, the music was pretty but he wouldn’t mind having a few electron micrographs to analyse as he listened. Still, as act three progressed he realised that he’d be quite willing to sit through hours of the stuff. By the end he scarcely registered that the woman dying of tuberculosis had just sung at full volume for five minutes, because the last aria had set Erik’s eyes glistening again, and he’d taken Charles’s hand and held on tight.

Out in the street, after they’d handed the Doctors into a cab, he tried once more to prove that he wasn’t a total philistine when it came to music. ‘It was very artistic. I liked the… singing.’

Erik laughed. ‘Bullshit. You hated it,’ he said, ‘but what do you know? You’re an idiot who gets lost in LA and picks up prostitutes by accident. It was beautiful.’ He practically glowed under the streetlights, still the sexiest thing imaginable yet nothing like he’d looked on Hollywood Boulevard. It wasn’t the clothes, the hair, or the seductive pose. He looked happy.

‘Beautiful,’ Charles agreed weakly.

***

Erik was gentler that night. Afterwards, Charles lay nestled against him for a long time. ‘What’s your name?’ he said eventually.

‘James,’ said Erik. ‘Do you like that?’

Charles propped himself on one elbow to peer into his face. ‘You don’t look like a James.’

‘Don’t I?’

‘No. Is it really…?’

‘No.’

***

‘So,’ said Emma, ‘is he treating you right?’

Erik was sitting in her office drinking orange juice and champagne and eating a peach. It was ten in the morning, and the whole set-up seemed a little bit surreal.

‘Yes,’ he lied. In fact, Charles was treating him all wrong, looking up from his papers with a smile when Erik came out of the bedroom and companionably pushing over a plate of croissants, giving him a hug before he left for work and, somehow more disconcertingly, issuing absolutely no instructions on what Erik ought to do during the day. Just, ‘I’ll pick you up at six, it’s this dreadful thing with investors, I’m so sorry to drag you along.’ Then he was gone, taking most of the warmth in the room with him.

Emma stretched out her long legs on the chaise longue. It occupied a large part of her office and, while entirely free from suspicious stains, gave the impression of being the most elegantly debauched piece of furniture in the entire world. ‘And are you treating him right?’ she asked.

‘I’ve had no complaints.’

‘Sugar, that isn’t at all what I mean. Have some more champagne.’

As the interrogation progressed, Emma’s questions got more unsettling. Erik made his answers more and more evasive, but he knew from her smug expression that she was drawing her own conclusions. By the time she set him free he’d decided he needed a bit of breathing space. He could go shopping again, or swim in the hotel pool, or go to a museum or something.

He might as well go home and do laundry.

Back in his apartment it was obvious Azazel had had a few people over. Erik kicked Janos off the floor, Alex and Angel out of his bed and Sean out of the kitchen where he was stealing cereal. Azazel himself was asleep face down on the couch and it seemed safer to leave him alone rather than face any more questions about Charles’s cuteness. It wasn’t like Charles was all that cute anyway, and it made no difference that he was also kind and generous, with a ridiculous love of biochemistry, a completely fake love of opera, an adorable tendency to sit on the floor in his dressing gown, and absolutely gorgeous eyes…

Shit, Erik realised. He was totally and irrevocably screwed.

He stormed out of the house to the Laundromat, sat and grimly watched his workwear revolve, bought replacement cereal and a box of donuts, went back to his apartment and put on his CD of _La Traviata._

It pretty much sucked. It wasn’t anything like the real thing, and there was nobody to hold his hand during the sad bits.

Fuck it, he decided. It was already too late to come out of this unscathed, that much had been obvious from the polo game. Now they only had two more nights together. If he was going to get his heart broken anyway then he might as well get as much contact time out of it as he could.

***

Sitting in his too-large and rarely used office, Charles poked again at the pile of papers, opened the emails, closed them, played a nostalgic seventeen games of minesweeper, and finally slumped on his desk, wondering how this had become his life. It had been the worst idea in the world to quit his research career to run Xavier Biotech. He’d only done it because he’d been too pigheaded to see it go to _Uncle_ Kurt, then his soon-to-be-stepfather, who had obviously been shagging his mother for years, or Cain who had made his life a misery for as long as they’d known each other. He might as well not have bothered, for all the good he was managing to do with it.

Bloody Dr Grey and her bloody amazing company. He folded the closest memo into a paper aeroplane and threw it across the room where it tangled in one of the glossy pot plants that kept appearing around the place. The act of meaningless creation was unexpectedly soothing, so he looked up some origami online and attempted to make a DNA molecule. It turned out to be infinitely more difficult than engineering the real thing. He’d just given up in frustration when the phone rang.

‘Mr Xavier, I have what’s apparently a personal call for you,’ said the receptionist, sounding mildly exasperated. ‘I’d like your permission to hang up on him, I have no idea who he is or what he wants. He wouldn’t even tell me his name.’

‘What?’ said Charles. ‘Oh! Oh, right.’ He suddenly felt himself smiling all over his face. ‘It’s OK, put him through.’

‘Yes, sir,’ she said disapprovingly. The line clicked.

Charles automatically pressed the headset closer to his ear, before realising that he was snuggling with a phone. ‘Erik,’ he said, half laughing, ‘is that you? Why are you terrorising my poor receptionist?’

Erik’s voice rolled lazily down the line, rich with amusement. ‘She asked me a personal question.’

‘How terribly rude of her, I must tell her to stop doing that. Why are you calling me, is anything wrong?’

‘Not exactly. Are you busy?’

‘Yes.’ He looked at his pile of crumpled origami attempts, his victorious game of Minesweeper still open on the screen, and the aeroplane-memo among the leaves. ‘Actually, no, I can’t say that I am.’

‘Come back, then,’ said Erik. ‘Stop working for now. You took me to the opera, I’m taking you somewhere you like.’

Charles shook his head. He couldn’t just walk out. The phone call suddenly seemed like a giant, unsubtle metaphor, with the universe striding in, slamming its hands down on his desk and telling him to make a fucking decision already.

He wanted to go with Erik. He wanted to go completely. But he couldn’t leave his company in the hands of Cain Marko.

Unless… maybe it didn’t _have_ to be Cain.

Surely it couldn’t be that easy.

The idea was still small, unformed. He tucked it away in the back of his mind to let it grow. Then he waved his frowning receptionist goodbye, jumped in a cab and went off to meet his metaphor.

***

Mutation, Erik had been informed several thousand times, was groovy. If it weren’t for mutation he and Charles would both be primordial ooze, walking around the Los Angeles zoo looking at identical forms of primordial ooze. Charles considered that this would be rather dull for all concerned, so he was firmly in favour of mutation. Had he mentioned that it was groovy?

‘Erik, look at these,’ he said, stopping by a tank of deformed underwater lizard things. ‘Aren’t they fantastic? Guess what they are, go on!’

‘Axolotls,’ said Erik reading the label.

‘Mutants!’ said Charles happily. ‘They’ve got a particularly amazing mutation, neoteny. It means they never grow up.’

Erik gave him a cautious look. ‘Don’t they?’ They weren’t the only ones. He should probably take Charles’s ice cream away and not let him have any more sugar until he’d calmed down a bit.

‘Oh stop it,’ said Charles, laughing. ‘I can practically hear you thinking. I’m a very mature, businesslike and intelligent CEO, I just happen to get a little excited at the zoo.’ His shoulder bumped lightly against Erik’s arm. ‘Shall we go to the kangaroos next? I can tell you some wonderful things about the evolution of the placenta.’

‘I’m looking forward to it,’ said Erik. He glanced at the axolotls. Their little gill-fringed faces looked back at him with pity and fellow feeling.

‘Come on,’ said Charles, already bouncing down the path. ‘This was such a good idea, Erik, thank you.’

They saw the kangaroos. Then they saw the crocodiles, and Charles talked about genetic diversity and morphological similarity, and then the chimps and orang-utans, where he did it again but the other way around, and then they saw cockroaches, which could apparently tolerate the radiation from a nuclear bomb (though you know it’s really not an evolved trait, that would be silly), and by that time Erik was so dazed and laughing so hard that he could almost believe it was real. They found a patch of grass and he sprawled in the sunshine while Charles went to get sandwiches, feeling like a teenager on a really great first date.

***

‘…after the foster homes I was just like any other runaway. I thought I’d get a little apartment and a job and a cat and just live on my own,’ said Erik. ‘Turned out there was only one job I could get that made the rent.’

As tales of woe went, Charles had to admit that this one was bloody woeful. He wrapped himself tighter round Erik. The zoo had closed, so now they were curled together with their backs against the broad trunk of a tree in Griffith Park. They’d well and truly missed the dinner meeting and it was all getting a little bit intense.

Every time he looked at Erik his breath caught.

‘I’m so sorry about your parents,’ he said, ‘you must miss them.’

Erik sighed. ‘Strange, isn’t it? I don’t take any shit, I can handle myself in a fight, I make decent money sucking cock, and I miss my mom and dad.’

‘It’s not strange,’ said Charles. He’d often wanted parents he could love, but from the sound of Erik’s voice he was better off the way things were.

‘I do have a teddy bear, though,’ Erik added, ‘that I kiss every night before I go to sleep.’

Charles looked at him. Ok, that was a little strange. He tried to work out if he was being teased, then decided to play it safe. If he said, ‘you’re kidding,’ and it turned out that Erik wasn’t then he would be the world’s biggest jerk.

‘That’s nice,’ he ventured.

‘I call him Mr Huggles.’

‘Lovely.’

‘He’s pink.’

‘Really?’

‘No,’ said Erik seriously, ‘but it’s good to know that you’re such an accepting person.’

Charles gritted his teeth. ‘You’re a horrible human being. You’re going to be reincarnated as a worm.’

Erik squeezed him. Charles huffed, pretending irritation that he didn’t feel. He’d got lost driving home one night, that was all, and somehow it had brought him to this – spending a perfect afternoon with an intelligent, gorgeous, forceful man who teased him and laughed with him and cried at the opera. It was utterly implausible. It was also the only thing in his life that made sense.

They talked on and on in the lowering dusk, about life and families and loves and loneliness. ‘I hate being a CEO,’ said Charles eventually. ‘I don’t know why I’m doing it. I’ve got a standing job offer at Columbia, a faculty position. I could go any time. And I’d get a little apartment and maybe a cat…’ He trailed off, not quite sure how to end the thought.

‘Then you should go,’ said Erik.

‘Do you really think so?’ It almost seemed possible, relaxed against the solid support of Erik’s body. The night was still and there were even a few stars starting to peep through the haze of air pollution. It was as close as LA came to a fairytale evening.

Erik nodded. ‘If there was something I wanted,’ he said, ‘I’d take it.’

Charles almost laughed. His life was infested with bloody metaphors. He couldn’t help himself, he pressed closer, tilting his head in that age-old way that means, ‘kiss me.’

And Erik kissed him.

***

Erik couldn’t remember the last time he’d kissed someone. Perhaps he’d forgotten what it felt like, and that was why it seemed so different from every other kiss in his life. Whatever the reason, after Charles’s hands came up to his face, coaxing him to stay, stay, don’t pull away, he hadn’t been able to stop.

Charles seemed very determined about that too. He’d paid thorough attention to Erik’s mouth all through the cab ride home, and more in the hotel lobby until they heard Emma’s clicking heels and had to run for it. He’d got his groove back in the elevator, continued as they pushed their way into the suite while undoing as many buttons as possible and only ceased for the long, slow slide downwards, mouthing every inch of skin from lips to cock.

Erik had muzzily thought, _I could give you some pointers, but I like your style_ , and then come with a groan and stopped thinking at all.

His brain was working again now. It had given him a brief moment of panic when it had pointed out the difficulty he would have going back to faceless men in dirty, dark places, but he decided he’d deal with that later. Right now, he had the very coherent plan of tonguing Charles till he squealed and then fucking him until he lost all ability to speak, think or move.

He explained this plan to Charles. Charles approved.

It was strange at first, even laughable, because Erik hadn’t done this for a while and Charles hadn’t done it ever, and kept saying things like ‘you honestly want to?’ and ‘it tickles,’ and ‘I can’t believe you’re doing that.’ Then Erik swirled his tongue over the tight little ring of muscle a second time. This time Charles didn’t say anything, just made a guttural sound that was almost a growl. Third time lucky, thought Erik, and suddenly Charles was talking again, babbling, ‘oh god, that feels, that’s your _tongue_ , amazing, fuck, ohhhh god,’ and not long after that the squealing started.

Erik worked away with fingers and tongue caressing and exploring. Charles moaned, his breath hitching as his muscles clenched and released, ‘Erik, I’m not complaining, but… fuck, oh, yes… is there any possible chance that we could… oh Jesus Christ… do you think we could maybe move it along a tad? Because… uh, uhh… if I don’t get your cock in me right now I think I’m going to die.’

‘Wouldn’t want that,’ Erik whispered, kissing his way across Charles’s ass cheeks with teasing slowness, until he couldn’t keep up the pretence of nonchalance anymore, and he was hitching Charles frantically into position and pressing in, hot, tight, wet, perfect.

Charles moaned filthy words, all noise and heat and joy. For Erik, it seemed very quiet. There was just the blissful thrust and the knowledge that this was how it should always be.

And afterwards… afterwards they cleaned up, brushed their teeth and snuggled back into bed. They murmured nonsense to each other and kissed a few times, and for Erik it was almost better than the rest, getting ready to fall asleep with someone and wake up with them.

Then they had filthy, fantastic sex again, but that wasn’t the point.

After round two, Erik was fairly sure he’d never move again. He gave a little grumble of protest as Charles wriggled out of his arms in the most objectionable way and sat up against the headboard. Erik sighed and pressed his head against one bony hip. He closed his eyes, listening to the comforting rustle of journal pages.

He must have dozed, because he half-woke when he felt a hand on his hair. Charles petted and smoothed. ‘Erik,’ he whispered, ‘are you awake?’

No, thought Erik firmly. I’m warm and sleepy and you are not going to wake me up to talk about RNA synthetases or whatever else you’ve been reading about. He didn’t move.

Charles made a comfortable humming noise and snuggled back in. ‘We’re going to be all right now,’ he said, resting his head against Erik’s chest. ‘I love you, Erik, Michael, Ian, James. Whatever your name is, I love you.’

***

Charles woke into a different world. Everything was beautiful, Erik was lying beside him under a warm hummock of bedclothes, and last night they had kissed and Charles had fallen hopelessly in love.

It would be all right now, all of it. Overnight his little kernel of an idea had blossomed, and the ridiculous, unbelievable easy way out didn’t seem so unbelievable after all. He washed and dressed, paced, fiddled with things and finally drew himself up as tall as he could and told himself be a man. He took a deep, shuddering breath, gathered his nerve and picked up the phone. Two calls, and they might be the most important calls he ever made.

Afterwards his knees were trembling. He was really going to do this.

Erik was still fast asleep, sprawled on his back. Charles frowned at him. Surely it wasn’t normal, he must sleep for eight hours a night. So much wasted time. Still, it would be a shame to disturb him. He found a piece of hotel stationary instead.

_Erik_ , he wrote.

_I’ve had to go in to the office. I hate to go without saying good morning, but you look so peaceful. There’s something I have to do, it can’t wait. I think it’s a good thing. I’ll tell you when I see you._

_Love,  
Charles_

_P.S. What the hell is your name?_

***

‘Erik,’ said Erik into the empty room. ‘My name is Erik. You guessed right the first time.’

He placed the note back on the table, between a pile of journals and a half-full, stone cold cup of tea. Suddenly it was vital that Charles should know, right now. He took the world’s quickest shower, scrambled into his clothes and was in the street hailing a cab within ten minutes.

Outside Xavier Biotech’s LA office he had a moment’s hesitation. It was a towering, glossy building, all steel and glass, and it gave the impression that unless you were legitimately important you wouldn’t get past the lobby. He approached cautiously, reminding himself that he had a perfectly valid reason to be there and that he was dressed as well as any of the suited businesspeople milling around the area. Still, as he pushed through the double doors he wished he had thought to call ahead.

The interior had dark marble floors and an air of intimidating grandeur. Erik glanced around uncertainly, then felt himself smile. Amazingly, Charles was just coming out of the elevator. It seemed impossibly cheesy but it was as though he’d somehow sensed Erik’s approach, and they would run across the lobby and fall into each other’s arms.

But Charles didn’t see him. Instead, he walked over to the desk, where somebody smooth and dark in a flashy suit was chatting to the prettiest of the receptionists. The man turned, revealing a boyishly handsome face, a vibrant grin and very white teeth. He pulled Charles casually into a hug, ruffled his hair and then, just as Erik was beginning to really dislike him, he put one hand on the back of Charles’s head and kissed him firmly on the mouth.

Erik couldn’t breathe. It was a mistake, surely, surely Charles would tell this asshole to go to hell. But Charles didn’t. Instead he laughed and said something, and the two of them kissed again, brief and easy, as natural as lovers.

That was enough. Erik turned on his heel and walked out.

***

Same old Tony, thought Charles, wriggling in the enthusiastic embrace. Ten seconds after you met him his tongue was in your mouth. The man was a force of nature. ‘How many times do I have to tell you that you can’t just run around kissing people?’ he said.

‘At least one more,’ said Tony, leaning in again.

Charles laughed. Tony Stark, billionaire CEO of Stark Industries, had been his very first schoolboy crush and had kissed him more times than he could count. ‘One,’ he said, ‘for old time’s sake, and because I need the world’s biggest favour. After that I’m off limits. I’ve met someone, Tony. He’s lovely.’

Tony grinned. ‘Then this is by way of congratulations.’

It was a nice kiss, but it wasn’t Erik.

‘Thank you. Never try that again.’ Charles disengaged himself. ‘Now, this favour, he said, ushering Tony into the elevator. ‘It’s about my company.’

Tony was amenable to the favour. He was very amenable. ‘Charles, you know I’ve been looking for a ready-made biotechnology division,’ he said. ‘The only reason I _haven’t_ bought out Xavier Biotech already is standing in front of me ignoring my world-class seduction techniques.’ He sighed and rubbed at his goatee. ‘And my second choice company? I just found they’ve sunk half their capital into finding a way to control ants. Cool, yes, sensible, no. Don’t worry, I’m going to throw an obscene amount of money at this.’

‘You promise you won’t do anything horrible with the company? Or with Phoenix?’ said Charles, eyeing him doubtfully. In fact he wasn’t all that worried. Two years on, Stark Industries’ sudden swing towards stringently ethical business practices was still the biggest news around.

‘I’m a reformed character,’ said Tony, casting his eyes virtuously to the ceiling. ‘Morality all the way. Screw the boyfriend, come and spend a torrid evening with me.’

Charles left the office grinning all over his face. It would work. Just a little while longer and he wouldn’t be a CEO anymore. Cain and Kurt would probably kill him once they read the emails he’d sent. It didn’t matter. There was only one big hurdle left, and that was asking Erik to run away to New York with a fusty soon-to-be-professor who had no interest in opera.

Then he got back to the hotel. Erik was gone, and he’d taken the money with him.

***

Usually Erik would have been a little uncomfortable riding the bus back to his dodgy neighbourhood with seven thousand dollars on him. Right now he really wished someone would mug him so he’d have a legitimate reason to beat the hell out of them. And if they knifed him or shot him, Charles would be… No, Charles wouldn’t give a shit. Last night hadn’t meant a thing, he probably took a different guy each week and then laughed about it with his slimy dick of a boyfriend. And he had dared to be jealous over Erik’s five minute conversation with Moira, the hypocritical, possessive little bastard. Of course, different rules applied when you were paying someone to fuck you, didn’t they?

Erik could feel the wad of cash in his pocket, much heavier than paper money should be. Suddenly he didn’t want it. He didn’t want a single cent of Charles Xavier’s money.

At the next stop he got off the bus and prowled angrily around the streets trying to get his thoughts in order. His common sense was yelling, _it’s seven thousand dollars, you idiot_. The rest of him was too furious to care. He’d given freely and he wouldn’t take payment for it.

As usual, common sense didn’t have a chance.

Back at the hotel he stalked into the elevator, gripping the money in one hand. He didn’t care what he found there, even if it was Charles and _him_ in bed together. All that mattered was tossing the money on the floor and wiping every taint of Charles from his life.

On the penthouse floor, angry voices were spilling out into the corridor. The door was open. Erik stepped inside just in time to see the asshole from the polo match backhand Charles hard across the face.

***

The last time they’d fought with their fists they’d been teenagers. Cain was a hulking man now, a good six inches taller and sixty pounds heavier than Charles, and the blow hurt like fuck. Charles found himself on the floor, one hand clapped to his cheek, rapidly realising that this was turning out to be the worst day of his life. He scrambled up again, shaking with fury, not caring if he got beaten to a pulp just so long as he got to _hurt_ Cain Marko somehow.

But Cain was already staggering backwards. A hand on his collar wrenched him round, a fist smashed into his face again and again. Erik was snarling, shoving him across the room towards the door. ‘Move,’ he yelled. ‘Go on, get out, or I’ll kill you.’

Cain got, dripping blood from his nose. Erik stood there, chest heaving, watching him go.

It was unbelievably good to see him, and not just for averting a massacre. ‘Thank you,’ said Charles unsteadily. He reached out to touch Erik’s arm, looking to comfort and be comforted. Erik took a quick step back. His face twisted into an expression of disgust.

Charles drew back too. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked. The sudden euphoria was quickly draining out of him. ‘Where have you been?’

Erik stared at him coldly. When he finally spoke his voice was emotionless. ‘I’ve been in your office lobby,’ he said, ‘watching you kiss another man.’

Charles felt his stomach drop several floors. Oh shit, he thought, oh, bloody hell. Two seconds of stupidity and he’d ruined everything. He couldn’t believe it, kissing Tony had been offhand, trivial… innocent. He hadn’t even thought about it. ‘No,’ he said hurriedly, ‘you don’t understand, it wasn’t like that.’

‘You don’t have to tell me what it was like,’ said Erik, still icy cold, ‘I’m cancelling our contract.’ He tossed something down at Charles’s feet. ‘I paid twenty-five cents for the envelope. The rest is all there.’ He turned quickly, stalked out without a backward glance and slammed the door behind him.

For a moment Charles could only stare at the slab of blank painted wood, thinking, _did you really pay for an envelope with a hundred dollar bill?_ Then it sank in. He flung himself across the room and scrabbled frantically at the door handle. The damn thing was stuck. He tugged furiously and the door sprang back, smacking him on his bruised cheek, knocking him over again. ‘Ow. Ow, shit, fuck. Erik!’

The elevator doors had closed. He swore, thumped the button, looked at the indicators, looked at the stairs, did the math, and swore again. When he finally got down to the lobby Erik was nowhere to be seen. Charles rushed into the street, up and down and back again, and ended up spinning vainly in a circle trying to look in every direction at once. No Erik. Nothing.

The revolving door revolved. Emma’s hand reached out, snagged him, and dragged him back inside. ‘Hello, Charles,’ she said sweetly. ‘I’m having Cain’s bloodstains cleaned out of one of my elevators, Erik just stormed out of here looking like the world had ended, and now you’re running around like a hamster on a wheel. Care to tell me what you’ve been doing?’

She didn’t wait for an answer, of course. She just frogmarched him into her office and proceeded to mercilessly wring the whole story out of him.

She frowned at him as he reached the denouement, poking disapprovingly at his rapidly swelling face ‘Well I’m glad it wasn’t Erik that hit you,’ she said. ‘I take you really were moronic enough to kiss Tony Stark?

‘Of course I was,’ said Charles, wishing she’d stop getting hung up on minor details like hitting and kissing when Erik was gone, and they might never see each other again, and his heart would break and he’d end up sitting under that tree in Griffith Park and crying while kids poked at him with sticks. ‘What am I going to do? I don’t know where he lives or how to find him, I don’t even know his real name.’

Emma raised an eyebrow. ‘Darling, while you’re admittedly not very bright, I expect you can think of a place to start looking.’

Which is how Charles found himself, once again, trawling Hollywood Boulevard for prostitutes.

Two hours in, he was close to despair. ‘No,’ he told the millionth streetwalker, ‘I’m looking for someone else. He’s tall with blue eyes, he’s German, he might be the most beautiful person in the world, and I don’t know his name, except that it isn’t Erik.’

As usual he was met with a confused headshake, but this time, as he turned away, someone tapped him on the shoulder. He turned around and found himself facing an exceedingly evil-looking individual with a scarred face, a black goatee and leather trousers.

The man looked him up and down approvingly. ‘Quite cute,’ he said. ‘I think maybe I help you.’

***

Back in his apartment Erik sorted through his clothes for his tawdriest, sluttiest things. He picked the very worst and lounged against the wall, looking at himself in the mirror. Well-muscled arms patterned with tattoos, t-shirt riding up to reveal toned abs, dark-lined eyes and an expression that could just about be a smouldering pout rather than downright wretchedness.

Someone would fuck him tonight. He needed a cock in his mouth or up his arse as soon as possible, or he wouldn’t be able to do it at all.

Out on the streets he made for his usual spot. Perhaps one of his regulars would come by, that wouldn’t be so bad. After an hour of scanning the crowds he got lucky, picking out a big, soggy guy in late middle age who he’d serviced a few times before. Erik plastered on his bad boy look, and was just stepping into the guy’s path when someone slung an arm round his shoulders and tugged him away again. ‘Need to talk to you,’ said Azazel cheerfully in his ear.

The man walked blankly past. Erik flung off the restraining arm. ‘What the fuck is your problem?’

Azazel shrugged. ‘Found this in the street. Belongs to you, yes?’ He jerked a thumb over his shoulder.

Charles looked rumpled, tired and very small in his gorgeous suit. The right hand side of his face was swollen and already threatening to bruise. Erik stared. His carefully composed walls of anger and disconnection fell away, leaving him shivery and cold. ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked roughly.

Charles made a broad, helpless gesture. ‘Oh for god’s sake, Erik,’ he said, stumbling forward. He collided hard with Erik’s chest, and wound both arms round him. ‘Why do you think I’m here? You can’t leave, I’m not going to let you.’ He squeezed hard, pushing his face into the crook of Erik’s neck.

Faced with a sudden armful of lying, cheating bastard, Erik found himself at a loss. If he leaned away they’d both topple over. Charles wouldn’t let go, that was heart-achingly obvious. He had come looking for Erik and now he was here, fiercely determined and holding on tight.

‘I know you’re angry,’ said Charles, still speaking mostly to Erik’s t-shirt, ‘but it’s just Tony, he’s impossible, I’m an idiot, it was one stupid end-of-an-era goodbye kiss and it will never, ever happen again. You probably hate me, but I love you and I will be here every single day following you around with a book of baby names and going through them one by one until I get it right, and then you’ll forgive me and we’ll run away to Columbia and get an apartment and a cat and…’

Behind Charles, Azazel made a sceptical face. ‘Eh. Cute but weird.’

‘Shut up,’ Erik snapped. He felt entirely out of his depth again. Somehow without his realising it his arms had gone round Charles in return. Charles was now explaining in detail the kind of cat he would prefer, while assuring Erik that he didn’t mind at all, in fact it didn’t have to be Columbia, it could be Germany, or a nice Pacific island, and they could even get a dog instead.

Erik leaned his head against Charles’s soft hair, looking at the neon lights and the weird assortment of passers-by. ‘What the hell is going on?’ he asked. Charles fitted perfectly into his arms, warm and comfortable. ‘Who was that asshole, who was the other asshole that hit you, and why do you keep babbling about Columbia and cats?’

Charles pulled back, tilting his head and looking up with an earnest, hopeful smile. ‘That asshole was Tony Stark,’ he said gently. ‘He’s buying my company, I’m leaving. Asshole number two was my stepbrother Cain, who isn’t very happy about it. Columbia is where we’re going, if you forgive me. The cat is an optional extra.’ He pressed a kiss to the corner of Erik’s mouth. ‘And I think I should mention again that I love you very much.’

‘You’re lying,’ said Erik, turning his head into the kiss. Charles’s mouth was deliciously sweet and slightly tender at one side from the blow to the face. Erik made a mental note to throttle asshole number two and feed his body to the jaguars at the zoo, then just kept on kissing. He shouldn’t trust Charles at all, but he would go anyway. They would go to Columbia and get their cat. Maybe it would work. Maybe they’d manage to be happy.

‘Please,’ Charles said quietly. ‘Please. Just tell me your name.’

Less than a week ago, Erik had climbed into the flash car with some slightly drunk, mostly unimportant potential customer, just another guy who didn’t need to know his name. Would things have been different if Charles had made another choice? ‘Max,’ he said, remembering. ‘Hans. Erik. Jakob. You choose.’

Charles’s face fell. ‘Erik…’ he protested.

Erik kissed him, gently, chastely on the mouth. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘that’s right.’

Charles blinked at him. ‘What?’

‘You can call me Erik. That’s my name. Don’t you like it?’

Something surprised and hopeful dawned in Charles’s face. He reached up to smooth back Erik’s hair from his eyes. ‘You look like an Erik,’ he said.

‘Do I?’

‘Yes.’ He let out a slightly shaky breath. ‘Is it really…’

Erik pulled him closer, nuzzling his head against Charles’s ear. Hollywood Boulevard’s traffic and bustled rumbled in the background, but here between them everything was peaceful. ‘Yes,’ he said.

Charles gave a little huff of astonished, half-disbelieving laughter and pulled back to look Erik in the face. His lip twitched. ‘Erik,’ he said, slowly, as though he was savouring every sound. ‘Erik.’ He paused, frowning, before bursting out with into laughter again. ‘ _Erik,_ you complete and utter arse! So all this time I’ve been asking for a tall, dark German, who isn’t called… no wonder I got such funny looks.’

‘You did _what?_ ’ Only Charles. Erik found himself laughing too, a ridiculously happy laugh that grew until they were both clinging to each other helplessly, half staggering across the sidewalk.

‘I can’t believe you did that to me,’ Charles said, once he could speak again. He snuggled back into Erik’s arms, still giggling. ‘You know something, though? It’s my favourite name in the whole world.’

 

**Coda**

 

‘I’ve been wondering about something,’ said Charles, on one mild autumn evening in their second year at Columbia.

‘About what?’ Erik asked, kissing him absently on the side of the head. They were strolling through the park under the trees. He had his arm around Charles’s shoulders and he was thinking about his upcoming midterms, trying to decide whether to bother studying the set topics when the advanced stuff was so much more interesting.

Charles kissed him back, awkwardly at an angle. ‘Your name, actually,’ he said. ‘I’ve been wondering for a while.’

Erik frowned, paying a little more attention. ‘I think you know it by now, considering the way you were moaning it last night.’

‘I don’t mean Erik,’ said Charles, ‘I mean Lehnsherr.’

‘You know that one too,’ said Erik, puzzled.

‘Yes, I do.’ Charles smiled nervously and dropped to one knee in the crisp fallen leaves. ‘It’s a lovely name,’ he said, pulling a ring out of his pocket. ‘Can I have it?’

 

 

And they lived happily ever after.

 

 

 


End file.
